In a post-apocalyptic world plagued by zombies, a chilling Christmas tradition endures. A twisted carol plays while children prove their mettle to Santa.
Trigger Warning: This story contains descriptions of injury, voilence, and child endangerment which some readers may find disturbing.
----
December, 2075
The crowd is gathering as we wait for the song to begin.
It is the tenth winter since the world was taken by the undead. It is so cold up here on the wall surrounding the place we - all five thousand of us - call home. I cannot feel my hands as I write this and they cannot stop shaking.
I am clasping my beat up notebook and my gun in one hand and my pen in the other. It is difficult but I push on …
… because if I do not write then how will you, future reader, know what happened in what will be the past of the world you live in.
There was a world before mine. What happened to it was written in books (some of which still survive), but there is no chronicler to keep the history of my world. Just those of us who write when we can.
The gates below me, that lead to the outside world, are opening. Here they come. The reason I am writing to you this afternoon.
Each year, children above the age of ten are trained in killing the undead. And, every winter, they are taken outside the walls to prove themselves. After the snow melts, they will need to be able to help the adults carry out supply runs in the cities and towns. The more children that can defend themselves, the more hope we have for a future.
'Santa' and his 'elves' - three adults who train the children in combat now dressed in costumes that otherwise live in a wooden box for the other 363 days of the year - leave the safety of the wall first. Red and green droopy hats swinging as they walk.
The memory of how musty and damp those costumes smell is so strong its like I am down there amongst them, breathing it in once again. They tell you when you're older that its to make the whole thing feel less scary, but I would disagree …
The children (twelve this year) follow. I can hear the sniffles of the ones trying to cry silently. A couple whimper.
Santa and the elves have begun their song to draw out the undead and I am taken right back to being one of those children.
—
It's beginning to look a lot like zombies …
Santa and his elves wandered into the mass of trees ahead of us as they sang. Their voices getting louder.
Everywhere where you go …
The low growls and snarls of the undead joined the song in a wretched chorus.
Take a look at the forest now, it's dangerous once again …
I wrung my hands around the child-sized baseball bat I was holding. I looked at Santa and his elves with their guns cocked and ready. We wouldn't be given guns until after the new year.
With zombies amongst the branches hanging low …
Right on cue, the undead came shuffling out from amongst the trees. Marie, a girl to the front left of me screamed as a zombie sitting amongst the roots of the tree grabbed her leg. My friend, John, stepped forward and slammed the pipe rod they were holding into the zombie's skull. The weakened bone cracked and the corpse fell limp on the ground.
It's beginning to look a lot like Zombies …
We started spreading out in different directions now. One to each approaching zombie.
Weapons in every hand …
I was grateful the snowfall had been low that year. Fighting for your life while freezing and scared was bad enough. Trying to do it while forcing your body through snow that covered your knees was a nightmare. The adults had tried to do just that once before and lost three children to the undead. Now, it was forbidden. If it snows too deep, tests are postponed until the depth is more acceptable.
And the happiest sight to see is the smiles that will be …
Taking a deep breath, I charged at the zombie bee-lining towards me. I was shorter than the other children by a few inches and the undead before me was a grown adult. I held my bat out with my arms outstretched to the side. As I ran past the zombie, my bat caught just below their knee. A loud pop rang out as their rotting leg dislocated. The undead man dropped to the floor before clawing at the earth and dragging his body closer to me. I wrinkled my nose and frowned at him. They never seemed as scary when they were like that. I am not sure why, but I even felt sorry for them.
On your parents’ faces …
That line stopped the emotion and replaced it with a searing mix of rage and grief. It was because of the undead that I no longer had parents. I stomped over to the zombie then stamped my boot as hard as could into the base of its neck. Its groaning stopped short and the creature's entire body drooped into the submission of death. Something it had resisted for months by the look of how rotted it was.
A new pair of boots and a pistol that shoots …
The thought of my parents. Of never seeing them again. Never having Christmas presents or a hug or a proud smile from them. Of knowing they were out there somewhere amongst the faceless mass of walking corpses. It carried me blindly through the rest of the song as I beat any rotting thing into a crumpled lump on the ground.
Sure, it's Zombies once more …
—
By the end, the other children were chanting my name. Not a single one of us was lost in the test that year.
But, the children who are out there now were not forged in those earlier years of our world. Only a couple of them have lost a parent and they cope better with death than we did. They are surrounded by it from a younger age than we ever were. They do not have the same anger. But, they are hardened in a different way. I truly hope they all make it to the end of the song.
No comments:
Post a Comment